Dog House
by Aryan Dark
Summary: SiriusRemus. Slash. Mild romance initally, future lemons. Ongoing problems arise as a new relationship develops between the two men. More of a multiple plot ongoing drama than a singular plot deal. Complete correct punctation, spelling, and grammar. Enjoy
1. Chapter One: Awake

CHAPTER ONE

_Sirius Black stumbled through undergrowth and dark foliage, the eerie night folding around him like a blanket. The scrub beneath him seemed intent on pulling him earthwards, bringing him crashing to the ground, twining itself around his limbs and wrenching him down, down, further down, into the murky depths of the unknown. He scrambled backwards, trying to escape his pursuer, but only succeeded in tightening the bonds around his arms and legs. The silhouette outlined by the hoary moon loomed over him, and, despite his masculine appearance, he screamed._

"Sirius! _Sirius!_"

Strong hands clamped over his shoulders, shaking him roughly and jerking him from his unconsciousness. He gasped for air, as though he had spent too long underwater. As he became more alert, he realised he may as well have been. He was drenched in sweat.

"Sirius, are you okay?" his rescuer queried. He seemed upset.

"Huh?" Sirius's brain seemed incapable of forming logical thought, let alone complete words. "Uh…Yeah, what?"

"_Sirius, are you okay!?_"

Sirius frowned. "I think so."

"Good. Now, let me check you over. Your may have hurt yourself, you were tossing about quite a bit," the voice said firmly, and, before Sirius could object, grabbed his chapped hand and pulled him upright. The still-bewildered man groaned as his head swam, nauseating him and making blood pound in his ears, throbbing against his skull excruciatingly.

"Oh, crap. I forgot that happens. Sorry, Sirius!" the man apologized and laid the pained man back down.

"Why'd…Why'd ya do that, uh…"

"It's Remus! It's me, Padfoot!"

"Moony? Seriously?"

"Uh…Why not?"

"Y-You're okay?" Sirius was bewildered. For some reason, he had thought Remus, his oldest friend, ally, and (unbeknownst to Lupin) object of his infatuation, dead. Flittering images of the nightmare were drawn back to his mind, and he shivered. _The beast hunched over Remus, strangely graceful for all its malevolence. Sirius cried out as the hood bowed over his comrade, obscuring his face and breaking Sirius's heart in the same, rapid movement. He glimpsed a brief, vague, silvery wisp of smoke-like substance rise from where he assumed Remus's lips were—_

"_NO!_" It was almost as if Sirius had descended back into the dream, the memory was so vivid. Lupin, who had turned his attention to pouring a drink from a glimmering glass jug, placed it hastily back on the table and rushed to Sirius's side, alarmed.

"Don't die, Remus…" Sirius moaned, burying his face in the pillow to keep it out of the sun, which was hurting his eyes, even as it descended over the horizon.

"What? Sirius! I'm not going to die, you idiot."

"But it took your soul…I _saw _it take your soul!"

"Sirius, look at me." Sirius rolled sideways reluctantly, peering at the man beside the bed.

"Mmf?" he grunted.

"Do I _look_ soul-less? Hmm? No!"

Sirius watched the man talk. His thin lips moved delightfully. Sirius could almost feel them against his own. Lupin's eyes glittered in the dying sunbeams, deep and colourless. Sirius felt almost as though he could fall into them, an action to which he did not object in the least.

"Remus," Sirius rasped, almost shocking himself with the state of his usually level voice. Remus looked slightly taken aback by Sirius's tone, turning from the jug to which he had returned.

"Yes, Padfoot?"

"Come here, please." Remus stepped forward slowly, unsurely, and stopped beside the bed. "_Remus_," Sirius said, slightly irritated, "I'm not going to bite you". Lupin looked slightly sceptical, but said nothing, moving nearer.

"Remus!"

"Sorry," Remus replied, sounding genuinely apologetic. He sat on the edge of the bed, closer, yet somehow still not close enough for Sirius. Sirius watched him for a moment, and, in a sudden, lithe burst of years' worth of pent-up Remus-deprivation, wrenched the stunned man down by his loose cotton shirt and locked lips with him.

His heart, which had accelerated to the point of bursting, shuddered to a momentary halt as the man pressed against him tensed. Sirius had, for a fleeting moment, let himself believe that Lupin would succumb to him and somehow, just somehow, happen to return his affections.

A hand pressed against his bare chest and pushed back, gently at first, but when Sirius refused to break contact, more forcefully. Lupin fell away, gasping from both shock and lack of air. "Sirius…"

"What? What is it? You're going to tell me you didn't know I was gay? Yeah, well, I've got news for you, amigo: I'm not." This sudden burst of anger left Remus quite taken aback, and Sirius, immediately ashamed of what he had said, buried his head in his linen once more. He spoke again, softer this time, astounded by his own courage. "Look, Remus, I'm sorry. I'm telling the truth though, I'm not gay. It's only you. I don't…" he paused, searching for words, "I don't just _look_ at guys and think 'whoa, he's hot'. It's only you, Remus."

Remus sat on the edge of the bed, his body somehow frozen on the spot. Despite his inability to physically move, however, his mind raced with the speed of the wind. He had certainly never thought of Sirius like that…But then, with Sirius's tongue gently trying to force its way into his mouth, he had lost a part of himself to the moment. There was a fraction of Lupin that _wanted_ Sirius, longed to return his fevered embrace.

Lupin had no idea what he was waiting for. Why could he not kiss Sirius back, let his own tongue explore the regions of his companion's mouth?

_Because I am afraid_, he thought to himself, suddenly, with grim realization.

_I am afraid that it is more than a mere portion of me who wants Sirius for my own. _

Lupin rose slowly from the antique bed, the depressingly old mattress failing to ease back into its usual position as his weight was removed from its surface. Sirius did not shift from his position beneath the sheets, and somehow this saddened the werewolf. His friend—His _best _friend—Usually so outgoing and reckless, without fear and possessing endless determination, now lay huddled and silent beneath thin greying sheets, feeling rejected and humiliated.

As Lupin watched he noticed almost infinitesimal tremors racking Sirius' body, making him twitch and assume a foetal position. Whether he was simply cold—considering the chilling night and his meagre coverings, not at all impossible—or the significance of his mental suffering was enough to affect his physical control, Remus did not know.

Nevertheless, he approached the bed cautiously, draping a blanket which had been crumpled at the end of the bed over his friend. Lupin couldn't see Sirius' face, but he got the crushing impression that the dark-haired Marauder was too ashamed to face him.

That knowledge left Lupin feeling nauseated and downhearted. To know he had caused such shame and misery in his friend—the total opposite of everything Sirius claimed himself to be—was more devastating than anything Lupin had felt.

He left the room quietly, his subconscious noting that the tiny, heartbreaking shivers running through his comrade's body had not ceased. The door swung to without a sound, other than the minute _thuck_ as it slid into place.


	2. Chapter Two: Knowledge

CHAPTER TWO

Soft moonlight seemed to tumble through the sighing curtains, followed by a breeze, chilling and bitter. It cut though his sheets and his flesh easily, and he felt as though he were submerged in ice. Lupin was still in the room with him, his worn body making a slight depression in the edge of the bed.

_Fuck! What the Hell…I've totally fucked this up! He probably hates me, now. He probably thinks I'm some sort of sick freak who's sexually attracted to his mates. Great. Great! Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

Sirius silently reprimanded himself; however, his feelings differed from his thoughts. Deep down, he was a little relieved—At least he knew. He supposed that was better than not knowing. The hope and love that had built up inside him over the years now lay shattered and wounding at the bottom of his mind; but at least he knew what would happen if he offered himself. Wasn't that better?

His thoughts were interrupted as he felt Lupin rise. His heart pounded in his ears, willing Lupin to make a move, to do something, to say something.

Anything.

Lupin just left. Sirius felt a blanket being lifted over his body, but then boots moved quietly across the floor and he heard the door close. Sirius' eyes pricked, his body racked with tiny spasms.

How he loathed himself.

_Remind me not to hope,_ he instructed himself, before the full impact of the incident hit him and his eyes brimmed and overflowed with tears. They ran sideways down his face, over his nose and cheeks, shameful and juvenile. For the first time in many, many years, Sirius felt childish and naïve.

_Let them come,_ he yelled at himself, referring to the tears. _Let them come. He deserves this. He deserves this guilt. Bastard!_

But Sirius knew that this was no worthy justification for his tears, and he knew that the final curse was directed at himself, rather than Lupin. He knew that the only reason he was crying was that he was sad; and the only thing to say that this was wrong was his foolish, immature pride.


	3. Chapter Three: Jagged

CHAPTER THREE

The fire seemed somehow inappropriate. Lupin felt as though he should be hanging from the wall in a dungeon somewhere, receiving lashings for his sins. Instead, he sat in a comfortable armchair in front of a crackling fire, nursing a tumbler in his palm. He watched the contents of the drinking glass eddy and swirl as he mindlessly shifted his hand. Staring blankly into the golden hues of the Firewhiskey, he pondered his life and his predicament.

_Why? Why did he do that? Why did _I _do that? Isn't this what I want? Or is it? Bloody Hell, Sirius, this is too hard. I didn't know he was gay! But he said he wasn't…How can that be right? He kissed me! _

Endless questions, all painful and none answerable, swirled around his head.

_Damn it, Sirius! Damn it to Hell! Merlin, this is too hard…What would have happened if I'd kissed him back? …Sex?_

Lupin grappled with the concept.

_Do I want this? Do I want him? Does he want me…? Sure seems like it. Crap, what if he's still delirious? No, he gave that speech…What happens if I tell him how I feel? What happens then? What if he rejects me? How _do _I feel? Damn it!_

The questions circled without beginning and without end. It was too hard.

Lupin let the tumbler slip from his grasp. Somehow, he failed to care whether it had smashed or not. He was so immersed in his thoughts he didn't even hear it hit the ground.

▫ ▫ ▫

Day broke, and Lupin had not moved. He felt as though he had been sitting in his chair for all eternity, and was destined to remain there. Now, he stared into the dead ashes of the previous nights' fire. He had not closed his eyes but to blink since he had sat down, but this did not bother him; for he had a mind for no-one and nothing but Sirius.

Friend, ally, lover, now awkward acquaintance? It was unbearable, the knowledge of what he had done to his friend.

The shattered glass lay on the floor, malicious and jagged, a remnant of something once beautiful. If Lupin had seen it, perhaps it may have reminded him of Sirius' dreams; but he did not, and the thought never developed.

Lupin had no intention of moving. He could not see the benefit of such an action.


	4. Chapter Four: Fix

CHAPTER FOUR

The sun was golden and gleaming as it unfolded gently over the horizon. However, its heat had only just begun to warm Sirius' part of the world, and a breeze made him pledge to stay beneath his blankets.

_Damn this, _he cursed silently. Focusing his mind, he let his body relax into transformation and felt hair ripple across his skin, bones shift and rearrange, and new muscles and sinew twining themselves gently into place.

Slinking out from beneath the sheets, the immense, dark bulk of the animal that had earned him the name "Padfoot" leaped from the bed and silently to the floor. A graceful creature that moved stealthily and with great agility padded over to the cracked and boarded pane of glass that was the window.

It stood still for a while, before its rump hit the floor with a sudden _thump._ The tail did not wag, the ears stood still and at attention. The massive dog stared unblinkingly at the casement, as though thinking; evaluating.

_Fuck this, _thought Sirius. _There ain't no fucking way I'm attempting to get rid of those things. I'm just gunna have to go downstairs._

Sirius knew he would have to face Remus. His face was flushed red as he changed back to a human form, now cold. His dog form was intended to keep him warm in the morning air, but seeing as he would now have to go and face Remus, those few minutes had been wasted.

The light downstairs was extremely dim, and it was as much as Sirius could do to see his way down the stairs. Dust floated through the musty air, sticking to the inside of his throat and forcing him to swallow. He rounded a turn in the staircase and before him, limp and unmoving, sat Lupin.

Sirius' eyes flickered around the room before him. He took in the shattered tumbler; the fragments of glass littered so evilly across the floor. The dead fire; remnants of something once alive and thriving. The man in the chair; cold, unmoving, his back to Sirius.

Mere seconds was all the dark-haired man needed to dash to his friend's side. He slapped him, hit him, threw water over him, kicked him. Still, Lupin did not stir.

"_STOP IT, YOU MORON. I'm BLOODY AWAKE."_

Lupin glared at Sirius from his armchair, sopping and looking rather bedraggled. "I've been awake the _whole time._"

"But you were just sinking deeper into the chair! Like, crumpling!"

"_I was cowering, you imbecile!_" 

Sirius wanted to kill himself. His face burned and his eyes smarted, but he forced himself to control his actions.

"I'm sorry, Remus. I really thought something was wrong. I didn't want to see you die again, y'know?"

"Again?" Remus enquired, but even as he asked he recalled the vivid nightmare Sirius had experienced, haunting and traumatising. "Oh, yes. Sorry."

Lupin rose slowly from the armchair and Sirius stepped back to let him pass. A sharp yelp of pain cut through the air and Remus turned to see Sirius with a fist stuffed deep into his mouth to keep from crying out.

Sirius held his foot in the air, a few inches from the floor. Something glinted cruelly, and Lupin looked to the floorboards. Surrounding his friend lay the fragments of his Firewhiskey glass.

_Idiot!_ he yelled at himself.

Lupin flailed mentally for a moment, before deciding he would have to carry Sirius out of the ring of shattered remains. Crunching over to his friend, he wrapped one arm around his waist, as Sirius draped an arm over Lupin's shoulder and clutched his shirt.

"Ready?" Sirius nodded. "'Kay; three, two, one, lift!"

Lupin hoisted Sirius onto his hip, balancing his friend ungracefully on his side and staggering back to the armchair in which he had been sitting. A difficult manoeuvre left Lupin holding Sirius in the bridal fashion, and he lowered him onto the chair, taking care not to touch his foot.

"Dammit, Lupin, listen to me! I'm not a freakin' child! PUT ME DOWN."

Lupin stared dumbstruck at Sirius, wondering what on earth he was talking about.

"I…Have, Sirius, I just put you down."

"Yeah, like a freakin' two year-old."

"But you hurt your—"

"_That doesn't mean you have to carry me like a god-damn baby!_"

Lupin blushed, muttering apologies. Sirius looked away, and whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was pouting.

_Damn, I'm an idiot_, the werewolf muttered to himself as he went to retrieve his wand. It had been in his coat when he left it at the front door—stupid of him, he knew. He had been taught far better than to leave his wand simply lying around. He tugged it from deep within an inner breast pocket and jogged quietly back into the living room.

"Sirius?"

Sirius grunted.

"Um…This is going to hurt, you know that. So just—I'm just warning you."

"I know, mate. I've had worse. If I could bloody see the injury I'd do it myself."

"Okay."

Lupin went about removing the glass buried deep within the sole of his friend's foot. Not once did Sirius make a sound, though the single thought running through his mind was _this hurts like Hell_.

The procedure was over within five minutes, and the cuts had sealed as though they had never even been there. Sirius swung his legs off the arm of the chair and stepped cautiously onto the wooden floor, wary of the glass shards that still littered it. He navigated his way around them, and returned to the task he had originally come downstairs to undertake—preparing a cup of coffee.

_Who knew simple coffee could cause such a damn fuss? _Sirius though facetiously to himself as he spooned the instant coffee into a mug. He couldn't be bothered preparing real coffee this morning. Too much had already taken place, and at that moment he didn't have the patience for it.

He patted his pockets, looking for his wand, but couldn't find it.

"Damn!"

"What is it, Sirius?" Lupin seemed guarded, even slightly nervous. Sirius ignored it.

"I left my bloody wand upstairs. I always do that. _Always_."

"Calm down Sirius, it's only your wand. What did you need it for?"

Sirius threw his hand in the general direction of the kettle. Lupin, still seeming anxious, flicked his wand and brought the water to boiling point.

"Thanks," the dark-haired man muttered grudgingly.

▫ ▫ ▫

Lupin stood, not really sure what to do with himself. Sirius stared darkly into his coffee, both palms spread and pressed flat against the marble kitchen bench. The steam, Remus knew, would be curling into his friend's eyes, but the mop of rarely-washed black hair hung before over his face, leaving Lupin feeling rather unwanted. As though that thin, grimy veil of hair was a solid brick wall that Sirius had built between himself and the werewolf—a show of wanting to be alone.

He stood for a moment longer before deciding he looked foolish, and turned to leave. He padded quietly across the carpet, refusing to let himself even glance at Sirius.

"You want one?"

"Huh?" Lupin turned around a little too fast. Sirius smirked at him from deep within dark tresses.

"You want one?" His eyes flicked briefly toward his coffee cup, signalling for his hands.

"Uh—No, I'm alright."

"You look terrible, you know."

Lupin nodded shyly, surprising Sirius.

"I know. I've been awake all night."

_All night_, he thought to himself. "Dammit, Lupin, why the Hell did you do that?"

"Um…I was thinking." The last few words were muttered. The intent behind this was to stop Sirius from remembering the previous night, but the difference in tone only proved to help the man remember it. His eyes returned to the coffee cup, and he said no more.


	5. Chapter Five: Valentine

CHAPTER FIVE

That evening, the thick fog of awkwardness still had not cleared between the two. They still could not bring themselves to make eye contact, and conversation was forced or non-existent.

Sirius sat sulkily, deep in his armchair, before a dying fire. Neither of them could be bothered to get up and revive it; and with nothing to do, Sirius was getting bored. Bored, and sick of waiting for Lupin to say something.

"Goin' t' bed," he mumbled almost incomprehensibly.

"Okay," replied Lupin in much the same tone.

Sirius felt like pausing, asking the werewolf if he was going to _freakin' say something_, but he didn't. He wouldn't let himself. It would appear as though he cared about the whole ordeal; and caring about a relationship was feminine—not like Sirius at all.

He trudged upstairs without another word to Remus.

His pants hit the floor with a soft _thump_. He kicked them to the side and threw his loose shirt over the top of them; underpants followed without a thought. He crawled beneath the threadbare covers and sighed. He had a lot of thinking to do.

▫ ▫ ▫

_But of course I love him. I know I do. I've had years and years and _years_ to work that out…So does he love me? What if he does? I couldn't possibly have a sexual relationship with Remus…Could I?_

He found his mind sidetracking to thoughts he always tried to avoid. It seemed that the ruder, more distasteful, sometimes even downright nauseating thoughts were the ones his brain seemed to concentrate on.

_What about even just a romantic relationship? Merlin, James would be turning in his grave…Fuck that little Peter rat, I don't care what he thinks. Dumbledore? I think he'd approve of it. He always seemed so accepting of anything, as long as it was for the right reasons…But a romantic relationship? The Order would be horrified, I'm sure. Snape would spit on us no matter what we did; I don't know about the Weasleys. Molly might not _disapprove, _but I'm sure she wouldn't exactly be _glad _that I'm gay._

_I'm not gay!_

"Uuuuh," Sirius groaned, and rolled over. He now lay facing away from the door, which was just as well, seeing as only a short while later it creaked open.

Sirius lay still, as still has he could manage. He felt as though he might as well have been thrashing about, however—his heart was beating so wildly he couldn't imagine that Remus wasn't able to see his chest pumping.

_Why is he here? Just to tell me that I can't have him, I suppose._

Sirius was distracted from his attempts at stillness momentarily as he pondered his last mental remark—_weird way to word that sentence, brain…He isn't an _object_…_

He heard a floorboard creak and decided the best thing to do was feign sleep. He let his chest rise and fall slowly; inhaling deeply and letting his lips part slightly—he always drooled in his sleep, he had been told. The bed beside him fell a little, as though someone were sitting on it. Sirius couldn't possibly pretend to be asleep for much longer—already he was starting to let himself breathe heavily in anticipation.

He swallowed as he felt a figure lean over him, closer, closer, and then—lightly, as though they were nothing more than gentle fingertips—he felt Remus' lips brush against the rough stubble on his jaw.

Remus left quickly after that, as though he were a mere nine years old and had just given his playmate a shy Valentine's Day card. The air seemed thinner; Sirius could hardly breathe—was it acceptance or timid rejection?

_God damn it, Lupin, that didn't clear up anything!_

The back of his hand felt the place on his jaw Lupin had kissed. It didn't feel any different to his hand, but to his heart it felt as momentous as a wedding day; a declaration of love; a bashful Valentine's Day card in first grade.


	6. Chapter Six: Irish

CHAPTER SIX

Sirius rose from the bed, padding quietly across the decaying carpet to the large mahogany chest where he stored his shabby, mismatched clothes. He had never really cared for fashion, and, after Azkaban, he noticed even less what he shoved his limbs through each morning. What mattered was that it wasn't a grey and white hessian garment that looked less like a shirt and more like an overlarge sock.

This particular morning he shrugged on a loose, light-blue cotton shirt. There were holes in the elbows, the breast pocket hung by loose threads, and the sleeves had long since frayed beyond existence, but Sirius couldn't be bothered replacing it. Not to mention he was a wanted criminal, which made excursions from 12 Grimmauld Place almost impossible. And nobody wanted to sell clothes to a dog.

He hit the door frame on his way out of the room. The tattered shirt hung open, and dark slacks no more intact than their upper counterpart made his thin frame seem far more substantial than it really was. His depth perception was never very good in the morning, and he continued to lurch ungracefully into walls as he shambled down the stairs. Dark eyes bleary and his vision blurred, he made his way to the kitchen.

"Lupin," he called out drearily. "Damn it, Lupin, where are you?"

It was midday, something that the darkness in the numerous rooms of the enchanted townhouse did not betray. Dust danced and flowed in the invisible currents that ran through the air; thick air that seemed as though it had gone undisturbed for many years. He dragged himself through it, still rubbing his eyes, and to his horror and dismay, accidentally nudged his shoulder against the curtained painting of Walburga Black—Sirius' dreaded mother.

"FILTHY MUDBLOODS! GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE! THIS IS THE HOUSE OF MY _FATHERS_! YOU MAKE ME SICK, OH YES, ESPECIALLY YOU, _SIRIUS_! GET OUT OF MY SITE! YOU REPULSIVE TRAITOR. YOU ARE A STAIN ON THE RESPECTABLE FAMILY NAME THAT IS BLACK! GET _OUT_! VOLDEMORT HAS THE RIGHT IDEA, OH YES, KILL ALL THOSE DISGUSTING, FILTHY MUDBLOODS! GET THEM OUT OF THE WAY! YOU'RE A RIGHT ONE, TO BE FRIENDS WITH THAT JAMES _POTTER_, SIRIUS!"

The name of his friend was spat out as though it were sauerkraut fed to a three-year-old who just found out what it really was. He had a right mind to scream back at her.

Sirius scowled in disgust and threw the curtains shut. His mother continued to howl from behind them, but he ignored her. His head was throbbing from being yelled at so early in the morning, and he was highly irritable. He knew he would snap at Lupin when the werewolf didn't deserve it at all, but at that precise moment Remus' short-term emotions were not high on his list of priorities.

He finally found his way to the kitchen, dropping heavily into a hard wooden chair and letting his head fall onto the table before him. Blood pounded in his ears, his vision swam and he felt as though his brain was trying to escape from his skull by means of force. It was like a hangover— except worse, because he knew there hadn't been any "last night" to make it all worth it.

"Remus," he groaned, rolling his forehead back and forth across the knots and twists in the polished wood. He raised his head with some trouble, and called through the house.

"Remus! Where are you? It's midday, and I've been yelling for ages! You can't still be in bed!"

_Lazy bastard_, the Animagus thought with a hint of affection.

He set about preparing himself coffee, a substance he had recently discovered he depended far too heavily upon. It was while he was waiting for his water to boil (he had left his wand upstairs _again_) that he noticed the tiny slip of parchment that lay on the sideboard. He skittered around the edge of the kitchen bench and snatched at the note.

_Sirius:_

_The Order has called me out._

_I need to leave now (it is 5:25 AM)._

_I don't know how long I'll be away, Sirius._

_I'm sorry._

_You're just going to have to manage on your own._

_You know that the Order will be in and out—you'll have plenty of company, promise._

_I could be away two days, or I could be away two months._

_I might not even come back._

_You have to remember that._

_--Lupin._

Sirius looked down at the note blankly. He hardly noticed when it folded itself into a neat little square and combusted in a burst of quaint purple flame. The whistle on the kettle screeched shrilly behind him, and he wandered back to the stove to turn it off.

_No bloody Lupin._

_For a whole two months?_

_Knowing the Order, it'll be more like two years. Oh, damn!_

He was alone. Alone, if he tried to ignore his wailing mother and her banshee-like, unrelenting cries of 'MUDBLOOD! TRAITOR!'. Sure, Snape would slip in and out. And perhaps even Mr. or Mrs. Weasley—but they never stayed long. Dumbledore was a less-than-regular visitor. Tonks and Mad-Eye were expected often—however, they only ever stayed for very brief amounts of time. Harry came but once or twice a year!

Sirius sighed. His best friend was gone, and, as Remus continually reminded him—there was a decent chance he wouldn't return. Before long, Sirius found himself heading toward the liquor cabinet. His coffee could afford to be a little stronger that morning.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES: 

O-o-oh, notes! Reviews make my soul weep with happy. Oh yeah. That's right.

I did BAD GRAMMARS.

But please, guys:

All the authors out there will know that. Reviews are beautiful. Even if it's just "next chapter please" or "great keep it up" or "what the freakin' Hell is sauerkraut?", it's a soul-happifying thing.

THANKS REVIEWERS AND FRIENDS.

P.S.: If anyone can tell me why this chapter is called "Irish", you get...Uh...A drawing. That's not as crap as it sounds, I promise. You can commission me something.


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